


Shadow Preachers

by aryaologys



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Underworld (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate universe - vampires and lycans, Betrayal, Blood Drinking, Character Death, F/F, F/M, Gendrya - Freeform, Lycans, Mates, Mating Bites, Romantic Fluff, Smut, Throbb Lmao, arya in a dress!, death dealer!brienne, death dealer!edric, death dealer!gendry, death dealer!jon, death dealer!mya, death dealer!robb, death dealer!theon, death dealer!tyene, gay bros theon and robb, human!missandei, human!sansa stark, jon is so soft for sansa that’s his BABY, jonsa, underworld!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 08:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18913243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aryaologys/pseuds/aryaologys
Summary: It’s 298 AC and Westeros is torn apart by the ongoing bloodshed between Lycan’s and Vampires. Jon Snow is the commanding Captain of the Death Dealers, a seasoned solider who’s known for his ruthlessness in battle, revered as the most fearsome of Vampire protectors. Many years have gone by and Jon is renowned for his solemnity as much as his skill—little matters to him.That is until Jon meets Sansa Stark, the daughter of one of the human lords, and suddenly she is the only one who matters to him. His duty swiftly shifts from protecting the vampires to keeping her safe. And he’ll do anything to make sure she is.





	Shadow Preachers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeynestheon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeynestheon/gifts).



> dedicated to my girls, the shaderoom, especially olivia for inspiring me !! :*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the human nobles arrive

 

 

The sky’s ever changing canvas shifted from its serene, navy darkness to a brilliant blood red quicker than Jon had anticipated. The nights were getting shorter and the sunlight was approaching faster. Winter was ending but it seemed no matter the season, the wars of the species still raged on. He yanks on the reins of his destrier, making the black-coated horse gallop faster. Jon’s heightened senses take over. He breathes in the icy air that blows in from the North, no matter how close winter was to ending, the winds of his birthplace never seemed to leave him. It felt good on his face, which was matted with dried blood from his enemies. His lesser wounds, the small cuts, had long healed but the more deeper gashes the Lycan’s his fellow Death Eaters and he fought would take some blood consumption to fully heal.

 

Jon looks ahead to see the gates of the keep being opened for their arrival, his sensitive hearing mistakes the rising chains for a bellowing sound and he winces. He and his company ride into the courtyard, already stable hands are rushing over ready to take their horses to be fed and cleaned. He hears the gates close back behind them once the last of their company comes through. 

 

His destrier’s hooves sound off loudly against the pale stone of the ground below. A stableboy rushes over, “Captain Snow,” He says with idolizing eyes. 

 

“Henrik,” Jon greets as he dismounts off the horse, petting his head after. “Make sure Winter is fed extra well tonight. It was a long journey, she deserves it.” 

 

“As you wish, milord.” The young boy says. 

 

Jon barely takes a step before he hears a voice call out his name. It’s a voice that brings his head in the same pain that the gate chains had given him. Viserys Targaryen is one of the main coven leaders, but the head member of the council ever since his father had been ripped apart by the beasts they live to kill. Jon turns just in time to see his weasel face come closer, his expensive robes trailing behind them in signature Targaryen colors. 

 

“Jon,” Viserys greets curtly. “How was the patrol of Highgarden? Was their a need for the raven of distress they sent?” He asks without preamble.

 

“Several Lycan’s were nearby, looking to attack on another day. But we managed to take them out without much issue,” Jon reports. “Luckily we found them before they caught our scent.” 

 

“Good. And did—”

 

”Lord Mace compensated you heavily for offering your aid.” 

 

Viserys’ purple eyes shine. His approval rarely is ever spoken vocally. “The human lords are arriving in a fortnight. They know the rules, pay their due, and we won’t make meals of their family,” He says. He goes on. “Make sure your Death Dealers are well prepared to escort them along the Kingsroad should any Lycan’s try and attack our only source of income.”

 

Jon has to bite back his tongue. It wasn’t like he had been doing this for half a century or anything. He knew his duties. His Death Dealers knew their duties. They didn’t need some pompous weasel faced highlord speaking to them as if they have never done their job before. But Jon knows speaking out is counted as insolence and he had been alive too long to know that blending in and shutting up was sometimes better than defending yourself. 

 

“They’ll be ready. As we always are.” Jon replies stiffly. “My lord.”

 

Viserys eyes him narrowedly before nodding, walking backwards before turning around, walking away with his nose pointed up in the air as usual. Jon let out a breath once he was fully gone. He looked around him to see his fellow Death Dealers just as worse for wear. He walked over to the stables to give Winter a few more fond pats on her flank before walking towards the main keep. He didn’t bother to request an audience with the other council members about his mission, he was far too tired to keep up his courtesies.

 

Jon looked up at the sky, watching the blood red sky turn more orange by the second. The skin on his face was itching with the warning of the sun coming up. He made his way towards where the Death Dealer apartments were located, looking forward to a bath and sleeping on his featherbed for the rest of the day.

 

He was almost to his chambers when he caught a flash of silver hair in his vision. If he hadn’t seen it, the familiar sickly sweet scent hit his nose shortly after, confirming what he dreaded. Jon knew better to expect Viserys waiting for him near his chambers—this person was an entire different annoyance to Jon. He bit back a groan as his eyes landed on a petite woman leaning on the stone wall next to his chamber door. Lady Daenerys was held in high regard amongst their coven for her beauty and status, many a vampire sought her hand as their mate numerous times, but Jon never managed to fall prey to whatever fascination that everyone seemed to get with Daenerys’ presence.  

 

“Hello, Jon,” Daenerys greets as he walks closer to his chamber door. “It gives me relief to see you intact and well. Viserys tells me that you and your guard fought well today.”

 

Daenerys wore a long white gown with a plunging neckline that was common overseas, a fashion that she had brought back with her after a trip to Essos. Her skin was pale, paler than what their kind normally gives and she stares up at him through silvery lashes.

 

“Lady Daenerys,” Jon nods to her compliment, makes a point of sounding exhausted.

 

“For god’s sake, you could at least _act_ pleased to see me, Jon,” Daenerys jests, a predatory smile on her thin lips, pushing herself off the wall. 

 

“I was raised right, my lady,” He rebuffs her easily. “Lying to a woman is not honorable.” 

 

Her violet eyes briefly flicker blue, he’s already upset her. “Why must you push me away, Jon? It’s the same thing over and over,” She asks him with an agitated tone. 

 

“And I have told you, Lady Daenerys,” Jon isn’t in the mood for politeness. “I’m not looking for a mate.”

 

“And I have waited, patiently.”

 

“You are many things but patient isn’t one.”

 

“It has been nearly fifteen years,” Daenerys hisses at him. “If that isn’t patience then I do not know what is.”

 

Jon bites back the words on his tongue, something along the lines of,  _you’d think after fifteen years you’d get the hint._ But he doesn’t. “We’re immortal, Dany. Another fifty years won’t do a thing. And even then—”

 

“Why can you not see how well-matched we are for one another?” Daenerys sounds like a petulant child. “Everyone says so, my brother has given me his blessing!”

 

Jon holds a roll of his eyes. “Viserys dislikes me.”

 

“Only because of how you treat me.” She pouts. “He sees how you keep me at arms length. Vis wants me happy, _you_ prevent that.”

 

“I would never make you happy,” Jon shakes his head at her. “Nor would you make me. We are not well-matched, Dany. How many times must I tell you?”

 

She steps closer to him and Jon has to hide the face he wants to make, her scent is too sweet, sickly so. “I would. Our children would be beautiful. Lords and ladies, powerful, our son could be the next Captain—"

 

Jon all but gags. He’d rather be victim to the rising sun than mate with someone like Daenerys for all time. They simply were not suited for each other. Jon knew it so. Time could not give her what she wanted. Jon would not change his mind. Her seductive facade falls at her attempts to woo him each time, leaving Jon looking at an overprivilged childlike woman who has never been rejected anything in her life and can’t fathom why she won’t be given this. 

 

“Save it for your journals, my lady,” Jon cuts her off before she can continue. “I am not interested in you that way, you are a friend . . . please do not ruin that for a hopeless cause.”

 

Daenerys eyes flicker back to blue and they don’t go away, “One day you will see how well we are for each other. Let it be ten, fifty, a century from now . . .we will be mates and we will be happy.” She states, her tiny form shaking from anger. “And you will laugh at this memory of rejecting me and curse yourself for not loving me sooner.” 

 

Her eyes well with tears at the end of her speech. She back away from him, her tiny fist clenched. There’s almost an unhinged air about her that always frightened Jon. The pale haired girl turns on her heel, walking down the hallway. Jon watched her until she turned the corner and was out of his. He rubbed his tired face and unlocked his chamber door, letting his armor fall to the ground noisily as soon as he stepped inside. He hung his sword on its place on the wall, taking his gauntlets off and setting them on his dresser. Someone would come and fix any dents in his armor while he slept. 

 

Jon picks up the faint scent of blood, his eyes catching two silver goblets on his bedside table. He smiles to himself. No doubt Theon or even Missandei had called for his meal, on the sure chance that Jon would be too tired to ask the servants himself. 

 

He chugged the first goblet in a gulp, looking in the mirror to see the deep gash on his chest healing by the second until his skin went back to its smooth, unblemished state. 

 

Jon got into his bath and scrubbed his skin as best as he could, cleaning away all the dried Lycan blood and dirt in his hair. Tiredness befell him again and he drank the second goblet of blood, finally sated. He dried his wet body and slipped on a clean tunic, slipping in between the furs of his bed and shut his eyes, sleeping the second he did. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

A fortnight came and went quicker than Jon had anticipated and before he knew it, it was the day that his guard and he were to escort the human nobles arriving to King’s Landing. It was important to Viserys that their journey and arrival went smoothly, as said, the human nobles were their only source of income. The vampires let crop growing and other labors to the humans ever since the Lycan revolution begun a decade ago. The vampire lords always used the threat of slaughtering the humans family as incentive to keep them doing their job. Not that Jon agreed with it, but it had always been this way, vampires ruling over someone whether it be Lycan’s or humans. 

 

Jon’s duty was to serve, ever since his mother was killed in battle as a child and his father was unknown, but probably some vampire lord or another. It was only natural that Jon followed in his mothers footsteps and became a Death Dealer. 

 

He steps into the courtyard, hand on the hilt of his sword as he watches the Red Keep’s workers rush around in a flurry in preparation for the human nobles. It amuses Jon, how much the council tries to give the humans the assumption that the vampires cared an ounce about them, or how well they are received. It’s more a show of power and nobility than a gesture of goodwill. Jon wonders what it’s like to be human, to be so vulnerable and yet so be so invincible as the same time. In his hundred years of life, it had always been a wonder of his to feel the sun on his face, without the obvious worry of burning up in flames. 

 

His horse is brought to him and he swiftly climbs atop of it. He situates him, making his his cloak isn’t caught on anything. 

 

“We await the signal, Captain,” A voice that belongs to none other than his right-hand, Robb, floods his hearing. 

 

“Very well,” Jon then smiles at him, “You must be excited. Your family is amongst the nobles, are they not?”

 

The excitement is clear in the young vampires striking blue eyes. Robb was bitten defending his home in Winterfell from rogue vampires looking to cause chaos. Since he was highborn he was granted a place in the Red Keep and went through rigorous training to eventually joined the Death Dealers. This was just five years ago, the youth was only twenty at the time of his transformation. 

 

“Aye,” His northern accent shows. “It will do me well to see my siblings again. It’s been so long . . . they were children when I turned. My mother won’t come though, it’s still hard for her.” 

 

Jon lays a hand on his shoulder, squeezing a bit. “Time is good to some. She will come around,” He says hopefully. 

 

Robb gave him a grateful smile. “Who is accompanying us on the escort?”

 

It was only common sense not to take every Death Dealer to protect the nobles. That would mean the keep would be left undefended from any threats. Ultimately, Jon chose his team consisting of Robb, the newest and bestest of them, Edd and Daemon Sand along who was quick with her poison daggers as her sister Obara was with her sword, Mya, a vampire older than Jon who's company and skill he respected greatly, half-brothers Gendry and Edric Storm who’s sheer brute strength could rip Lycan’s in half, and Brienne Tarth, who was just as ruthless in battle as the Storm brothers. Jon also brings along Asha Greyjoy and Garlan Tyrell. Jon almost took Theon as well but he found Robb worrying more about the wellbeing of his mate rather than killing Lycan’s.

 

“Theon you will be staying,” Jon called out as he rode towards the gates. “You are the commanding guard of the keep until our return.”

 

Theon looked at Robb, who was straight-faced but relieved. “Yes, Captain,” He nodded to Jon.

 

Jon slips on his helmet and pulls on Winter’s reins, urging him forth towards the gate. He hears his team riding behind him as they ride towards their station to await the flaming arrow to lit up the night sky—the signal to go ahead and meet the nobles at the rendezvous point. 

 

He urged Brienne and Edric to ride ahead, to clear a path the rest can follow. His Death Dealers follow his order, digging their heels into their horse to ride faster. Jon keeps his senses on high alert, waiting to hear anything amiss or smell a scent that he shouldn’t or doesn’t wish to. 

 

Several more moments pass, Jon holding his breath all the while. He can see Gendry just as still, his icy blue eyes striking even with his face hidden behind the protection of their uniform helmet.

 

“Captain!” Tyene calls out, her gloves hand pointing at the flaming arrow touching the sky.  “The signal!”

 

Jon nods to her, whipping the reins on Winter before calling out, “Ride out!” 

 

The Death Dealers take off in a fury, Jon leading the flank whilst Robb, a self proclaimed equestrian rides beside him at his left and Mya is shortly behind on his right. The cold air splashes on his face even with his helmet guarding it and Jon narrows his eyes at the feeling. They ride through the thick brush of the forest guarding the keep’s fortress in the dead of night, something a human would never be able or dare to at their speed. The pounding of their war horses hooves are deafening to their heightened senses but still, Jon is keen on being able to catch any scents that are unusual or Lycan. 

 

It’s a while before they catch up with the nobles wheelhouses, but Jon can see far ahead enough to make out the illumination of the lanterns that hang on them. He catches Brienne and Edric’s scent until they finally make it out of the brush. 

 

Jon has one hand on the reins and the other on the hilt of his sword, ready to defend and ready to slay anything that could be a threat to them. 

 

Brienne rides up to him, “Captain,” She addresses him respectively. 

 

“Anything?” Jon asks her. 

 

“It’s too quiet,” Edric answers, bringing his horse up next to them. His eyes glow a brighter blue. “I can’t even smell an animal.” 

 

Jon curses himself for not realizing it as well. There was no chattering of small forest creatures. Panic floods him, “I agree, the silence is worrisome. Tell the wheelhouse to pick up as much pace as he can—Brienne, fall back behind the last wheelhouse, Edric, go with her.” 

 

“Captain,” they follow their orders.

 

“Stay close to the wheelhouses,” He calls out, his voice rough. “Mya, take lead. Obara and Gendry will take the center. Tyene, ride ahead and inform the council that we are in route with the nobles.” His fellow guards nod and ride off without another breath. “The rest of you, move out!” 

 

The wheelhouses wheels groan in response as they begin turning again. Jon can see some nobles poking their heads out of the small windows of the wheelhouses, ever curious about the vampire guard protecting them. Jon can hear them whispering in their wheelhouse, equal whispers of fear and disdain for them. 

 

Jon takes his post by the center wheelhouses, his horse in a trot. There is something in the air that makes him halt, frozen almost, as he smells the faintest scent of lemon and winter roses . . . it’s almost invisible but he smells it nevertheless. It’s blood, someone’s blood. It calls out to him over everything do much so that his mouth waters. It’s intoxicating. Jon can’t smell anything else but _that_ , he finds that he wants to bottle it, wear it on himself all the time. He realizes it must be one of the nobles inside one of the wheelhouses. But he struggles to gets grip from the druglike effect that person’s scent that put him on. 

 

He pulls himself together, manages to gain some semblance of composure before any of his fellow Death Dealers catch onto his state.  

 

But Robb is sharper than most and rides up from his post, “Jon?” He says lowly, his usual respective tone replaced with concern. 

 

“I’m alright,” Jon clears his throat, glad for his helmet covering most of his face. “Back to your post, the quicker we can get back to the keep without issue, the better.

 

“As you say,” Robb doesn’t look convinced but rides back to where he’s posted.

 

He looks equally concerned for his family’s wellbeing as well as his captain. Jon then realizes that Robb’s family is in one of the wheelhouses, and judging by the dire wolf flag hanging loosely from the wheelhouse ahead of him, the same sigil that matches Robb’s direwolf pendant, it was that one carrying his family. It made Jon extra aware of his surroundings, for Robb, who he wouldn’t want to lose his whole family to an attack from Lycan’s without any remorse. 

 

It was difficult to finally regain some control of his senses after being blindsided by that heavenly scent just moments ago, but Jon mangaged. 

 

The rest of the ride to the keep was dreadful, still the forest was silent as ever, but Jon wasn’t used to riding so slow. He knew that the wheelhouses could onlygo so fast without breaking a wheel but still, he was sure he traveled all seven hells to endure such slow galloping. His guards seem to be just as stiff with annoyance as he is and he urges his horse a little faster. 

 

Finally, they break from the brush of the forest and get back on the Kingsroad. As far as his eyes can see, the Red Keep comes out in the distance. The gates open once all the wheelhouses are on the drawbridge, and the Death Dealers make a formation to guard their entry into the courtyard. After they are all inside, they rush back after them, calling out to close the gates as they ride in. 

 

 Jon can still smell that mouthwatering scent even better now that all the wheelhouses are in the courtyard. It makes his jaw clench when he feels his fangs enlongate. 

 

Obara rides up to him, removing her helmet as Tyene does the same. “Captain,” The blond woman addresses him. “I had no issue on the ride up, it was as quiet as it was in the woods.”

 

Jon removes his own helmet. “I do not like to question my good luck.”

 

Obara scowls, “If this were normal circumstances I would not complain about that,” She muttered.

 

Tyene nods, “Nor I. But I agree, it seems way too easy bringing the nobles here.”

 

“Worry no more,” Jon assures. “We made it back in one piece, without any troubles.”

 

The Death Dealers all gather off to the side of the courtyard while the main human lords and ladies begin to emerge out of their wheelhouses, every cautious as they stay close to one another. Theon and the other Death Dealers that stayed behind also make a show of forming a line off to the side with the others that went. Jon looks off to the side to see Viserys, done up in another ridiculous attire of his choosing, walks down the steps with the other council members behind him. Jon can see Princess Arianne, one of the main council members, led by her uncle Oberyn, another member, and his paramour Ellaria. Others include Lord Tywin and his children, Lady Cersei and the Lord Jaime. Lord Arryn is with his heir, Lord Harrold, followed closely by Lord Stannis and his wife Selyse. Lords Hightower and Velaryon also make an appearance as they join the greeting party.

 

Viserys is of course flanked by his sister who looks upon the humans as if they are the scum of the earth, even her nose upturns at the sight of them. Daenerys, dressed in her usual Essoi gowns, winks at him as she passes by. Jon gives her no reaction as he dismount his horse and hands his reins to Henrik the stableboy. 

 

Oberyn, one of Jon’s more favorite council members, pats his arm as he passes by, his beautiful partner just as teasing with him as he. Tyene and Obara greet their father fondly.

 

Viserys makes his way to Jon, “How did it go?” He asks firstly, eyeing the Death Dealers behind Jon. “I see no battle weary warriors so I can assume it went smoothly.”

 

“No issue, my lord,” Jon reports stiffly. 

 

“Rest up all of you,” Viserys orders the guards with a slight nod. “Good work, as always, you deserve a night’s rest. You shall be called tomorrow to escort the lords back.” 

 

Viserys doesn’t say another word. He drifts back off to where the rest of the council members have lined up, extending his arms as he proclaims, “My lords! It does relieve me so to hear your journey was without issue.” 

 

Jon doesn’t make an issue to stay any longer than he desires. The scent is still clouding his mind and making him delirious but not even his curiosity could make him endure all these false courtesies that Viserys will be pouring out onto the human nobles. The Death Dealers all begin to disperse at Jon’s command, but as usual, Robb, Gendry, Tyene and Theon follow him closely. 

 

“Tyene said it was simple getting there and back,” Theon speaks up first, holding Robb’s hand. “Was it?”

 

“Almost too easy,” Tyene says gruffly. 

 

“We couldn’t hear any animal life. It was silent.” Gendry adds.

 

“You don’t find that strange?” Robb directs his question to their Captain. “No Lycan’s not even a scent. The animals? It sounded like they all but cleared the forest. It’s never been that quiet in the forest.”

 

“I’ve seen things stranger still,” Jon sighs as he holds his helmet to his waist. “We best not question the Warriors blessing.”

 

“But—”

 

They’re interrupted by someone slamming into Robb. A small figure, with curly brown hair that she’s teying desperately to style in her run. It’s Missandei, the lady of their human relationship committee, looking sleepy and yet anxious at the same time. 

 

“Forgive me, my lord,” Missandei doesn’t look up. 

 

“Slow there,” Jon chuckles. “You’ll take out an eye with that hairbrush.”

 

“Oh! Jon!” Missandei looks up, her brown eyes wide and kind. She looks in the group and lands on Tyene, she blushes. “Hello, Ty.”

 

“Hello-Hi, um, Missy,” Tyene is just as starry eyed as she fumbles her words.

 

”How did escorting go?” Missandei asks. 

 

Tyene again fumbles with her sentence.

 

“Good—and shouldn’t you be with Viserys? Going to help greet the humans?” Jon decides to save both girls another awkward encounter for the hundredth time. “You know how rude he can be, someone needs to break any ice.” 

 

“I know, I’m late. Viserys is gonna be so angry,” Missandei groans. “I took a bath and it went longer than expected. I actually fell asleep,” She admits sheepishly, giggling a bit. “Okay, well, I shall be off—glad to see you, Tyene!” Then she’s rushing back to where she was off to. 

 

Tyene watches her run off, waving softly. Gendry and Theon chuckle. She glares at them, her bright eyes narrowed. “Shut up.”

 

”We said nothing, did I say something Gendry?” Theon asks.

 

Gendry grins. “I didn’t hear a thing.”

 

”Nor I,” Robb adds.

 

“Idiots.” Tyene grumbles. 

 

“You she’d turn if you ever got the courage to ask her to be your mate, right?” Theon pokes her arm. 

 

“Which is why I don’t ask,” Tyene frowns.

 

“Why not, maybe you’d be more fun—ow!” Robb complains as Tyene flicks him on the forehead. 

 

“Unless you wish to widow your mate I suggest you shut up,” Tyene grumble as she pushes past them. 

 

Jon ignores their petty fighting, walking ahead. He is about to go inside his chambers but instead finds himself thinking back to that scent he smelled earlier. He couldn’t get it out of his mind. It was too memorable. Jon at the last minute, decided to turn the corner that would lead them to the council members audience room and let his curiosity get the better of him. Jon just had to see for himself where the scent was coming from. Maybe then he’d sleep better. 

 

The walk to the audience room is quick with his vampire speed, and he makes it just in time to see the nobles and the vampire council already speaking about the mutual business. 

 

Jon slips inside, unnoticed, pushing the door quietly behind him so that no one will turn his way and see him. The council room is a massive area, crystal chandliers that hold candles hang from varying parts of the room. The heat of the candles makes Jon feel even more unsettled. Gossamer curtains drape the walls in a show of elegance and beauty, whilst various plants bloom around on the tables. 

 

The ceiling rises high to show the windows that open only at night to show the moonlight. And sometimes during the day for the execution of traitors–Viserys’ father loves to see people burn and Jon has bad memories of the smelling of sun charred flesh in the middle of this room. Several finely cushioned thrones made of the finest stone round the back of the room where the audience is usually held; all council members are seated, from Viserys to Lord Hightower, and any lower leveled members sit off to the side in no less expensive lounge chairs that are carved from pale stone. Daenerys sits lazily with Lady Lynesse Hightower as they drink goblets of blood, the vampire women eyeing the humans like their next meal. 

 

Jon knows he’ll have better view if he’s near Oberyn’s throne so he swiftly makes his way, already getting the scent flooded back in his mind. 

 

“Decided on joining the party?” Oberyn asks, looking behind him to face Jon. 

 

Jon grunts in responds, “Hardly.” 

 

Oberyn grins. “It is rather dull occasion but it smells good. Or maybe it is just the humans.” He jests.

 

Jon shakes his head and turns back to observing the room. He can see Robb by the other wall, standing with Theon, close as they can be without being disrespectful to the audience. Tyene and Obara are sitting with their younger siblings off to the side where Mya is stationed, still in her armor, nodding to Jon when she catches his eyes. 

 

The human nobles, are all awaiting their turn to speak to Viserys, and Jon can see they are done up in what is most likely their best attire. They are noble as the rest of the vampires in this room, but in comparison to the vampires clothing consisting of big gowns and jeweled tunics and embroidered overcoats, it’s almost pitiful. There are many chest shots in front of each human noble family, filled to the brim with gold dragons that will be useful to the vampires daily needs and to pay the smiths in creating weapons they need to take down the Lycan’s reigning havoc. The humans look as scared as they usually do whenever they are in Viserys’ presence. But it’s not as near as fearful as when Aerys was the overlord, now that was pure terror. Jon wouldn’t be surprised if Aerys had drained another lord who hasn’t complimented the food that Aerys had served them for the evening. But Viserys was a whole different level on unhinged, just dialed down a few notches. 

 

“Lord Frey,” Viserys says in his usual nasally voice that makes Jon scowl. “You promised me twice as much gold dragons for being short three moons ago, did you not?”

 

The human lord, Lord Frey, is a weak man who walks up after being called. “Ly-Lycan’s have killed many of my sons and grandsons and great sons . . arranging funeral feasts and whatnot have strained—”

 

“I did not ask for excuses.” Viserys grit out.

 

Lord Frey sputters, “It-Why they are-no excuses! You promised protection from those beasts yet I have buried more of my kin than I care to!” 

 

Jon almost groans out loud at the way Viserys seems to shake from rage at the old mans obvious poke at their inability to kill all the Lycan’s. Viserys is about to explode when a figure beside him, clears her throat. 

 

Missandei steps in smoothly, “What Lord Frey is sharing is simply an explaination on why the funds are low this time.” She says. “But given another chance, surely Lord Frey would not misuse your gracious faith that he will make it so the payment is tripled.” 

 

“The girl is right!” Lord Frey says, almost pleadingly. “Your faith will not go to a lost cause.”

 

Viserys eyes glow bright blue before going back to their original indigo shade. He taps the sides of his throne before waving his hand away, signaling he was done speaking with the old human lord. Missandei seemingly took a exhale, smiling to herself. Jon smiles too, Missy wasn’t given enough credit for the amount of rages she has pacified on Viserys behalf. He can see Tyene off to the side looking at Missandei adoringly as the tiny girl goes back to her place next to Viserys. 

 

“Ah, Lord Stark,” Viserys stands for this lord, who looks the best dressed out of all the others in attendance, but in clothes that are unmistakeningly northern. 

 

But Jon freezes at the name. Lord Stark. Robb’s father. His friend is beaming off at his post by the door, his joy at seeing his family hardly going unnoticed. Usually, the lords send envoys to send their payment but this is the first time most lords had offered to make the journey themselves, which is why Jon had never seen Robb’s father prior. Lord Stark is a stern looking man with a long face, grey eyes and a solemn look. His brown hair is in complete contrast to Robb’s bright auburn curls but he remembers saying that his mother is a Tully, and they’re known for being a red haired, ocean eyed lot. 

 

“Your son is _thriving_ as one of my Death Dealers,” Viserys informs the lord. “I am very pleased to have him.”

 

Lord Stark nods, his eyes finding Robb and softening for a brief moment. “I’m glad to see my lad has assimilated well.” 

 

“And just like your son, you do not disappoint,” Viserys comments as he sees three chests filled with gold dragons. His smile is a tad bit unhinged as he is. “Thank you, old friend, for your continuous show in loyalty.”

 

Jon wants to scoff. It’s more a burden than loyalty. Viserys would turn all Lord Starks’ family into vampires just to have them burn in the middle of this room if they did not keep their part in the human-vampire trade. Lord Stark seems just as unconvinced with Viserys’ words and simply bows in respect to the other council members. Lord Stark goes back to stand besides a tiny girl with hair as brown and mousy as his, Jon supposes that is his daughter, and two younger boys with hair as bright red as Robb’s, who eye the room with childlike wonder in their gazes. They must be Brandon and Rickon, Jon supposed, and the must be Arya or Sansa . . . he recalls Robb telling him he had two younger sisters. The girl with the brown hair looks annoyed and keeps toying with the sleeves of her grey gown, looking like she wishes to be anywhere but there. Jon finds himself fond of her already.

 

It’s there, looking at Robb’s family, that the lemon and rose scent floods back to him, and Jon finally sees the reason for it. 

 

Hidden behind Lord Stark, seen only when the lord shifts to begin walking towards Robb, stands the most beautiful being Jon has ever seen. He felt himself swallow when he finally saw _her_ , standing besides her sister, hands folded in front of herself demurely. 

 

The first Jon notices about the human girl is her hair—it’s red, really really red, redder than even Robb’s and it looks rich, soft to the touch and falls to her waist in a vine of waves. She walked through the crowd like she was born to have people look at her. The complete opposite of him, who'd much rather be looked over. But no one would look over her. Only a blind man maybe, or a stupid one. The girl needn't not even smile, something which Jon already knew might've broken his cold heart, because she'd turn heads anywhere. She was tall, almost his height, rare for most girls. He used his enhanced sight to drink up every feature of her. Her lashes were a darker shade than her hair, the same as her arched eyebrows. Her heart-shaped face was lovely looking and her florid cheeks and pouty pink lips gave her an almost angelic edge. Her eyes were wide, round and blue as an aquamarine gemstone, like a cats, hooded every so slightly. 

 

Her skin was porcelain, perfect and pearly, along with the light freckles that dusted her nose, it looked like a silk masterpiece in the torchlights. She wore a dress of blue velvet, it clings to her, emphasizing her small busom but bringing attention to her flowered hips. A dire wolf is a embroidered on the sleeves of the gown, in grey colored beads. 

 

 Jon immediately decides that she is the most lovely person in the room, and knows this has to be her first time here, because how in the world could Jon have ever overlooked her? Or her scent?

 

She hugs her brother tightly and squeals a bit when he spins her around. “ _. . . so grown up now, Sansa.”_ Jon’s enhanced hearing picks up. Sansa. That’s her name. After greeting Theon, she steps off to the side to let her other sister, who Jon now knows is Arya, embrace Robb. She seems to sense Jon’s obvious staring because she looks around the room until she meets his eyes. 

 

Her jewel blue irises widen for a moment before her cheeks bloom in color. Jon doesn’t know a prettier sight. Sansa blinks at him before looking at her hands and then back up, as if to confirm if Jon is staring at her. He can feel something inside him thaw, melt away, leave him feeling warmth radiate throughout his body. Sansa holds his eyes still, curiosity in them before the trail down to his body, and up again to his face. He fights back a grin. 

 

Jon can feel his heart begin to speed up from its usual resting rate for the first time in what feels like a century. For a moment it’s just the both of them, he knows his eyes might be glowing blue, but it doesn’t seem to frighten the girl. He should look away, he tells himself, it’s Robb’s younber sister. But then he hears her heart race, and a tiny smile form on her primrose lips and everything Jon knows he should do falls away. 

 

“I would like to take this time to thank all the lords for making the journey this way,” Viserys’s voice pulls Jon away from the angels gaze. “Your chambers are being set up but please make your way to the dining hall for dinner! Our guards shall escort you back on the Kingsroad tomorrow night at dusk and no earlier. Thank you again, we take pleasure in our trade, go on.” 

 

By the time Jon looks back, Sansa and her family had already begun to pile out of the room. But not before Jon sees a blond human boy in the same age of Sansa grip her arm harshly, yanking her back to him, much to the obliviousness of her family. The human male hisses in Sansa’s ear and she shuts her eyes, muttering an apology to him. 

 

A rage overtakes Jon, one so violent that he feels his fangs enlongate and he begins to move but is pulled back. 

 

“Jon?” Oberyn holds him. Oberyn must see how Jon’s eyes are glowing and how feral and enraged he looks because he frowns in confusion. “Talk to me, what—”

 

“That blond fucker,” Jon grits out, jutting his chin over to where Sansa is now in his hold, which tests Jon’s patience. “You know of him?”

 

Oberyn immediately scowls. “Joffrey. He is Lady Cersei’s human son by her late husband the Lord Baratheon,” He informs. “She had him before she made her father turn her and her twin.”

 

“Human,” Jon scoffs. “Of course.”

 

His dornish friend trails his eyes to the scene that has Jon seething. “That is his wife. The Lady Sansa,” Oberyn says. “Robb’s sister, but you know that.”

 

”His wife?” More rage fills Jon. “Who would treat their wife that way, in front of so many?”

 

”He is Cersei’s son,” Oberyn reasons. “Many say that Joffrey is no child of Robert at all. But that of Jaime.”

 

”Do not relay that to Brienne,” Jon grumbles. 

 

“She knows. Everyone knows.”

 

Jon sees Joffrey hiss something at his wife who keeps her eyes downcast the entire time, rubbing her arm, which no doubt hurts from the way she was handled. Joffrey turns on his heel, leaving Sansa in the hallway, and walks towards his mother who peppers him with kisses and a warm embrace. Jon doesn’t waste another moment before he makes his way over to her, he just needs to make sure that she is okay, that she is safe.

 

“My lady,” Jon calls out as she begins to walk down to where the rest of her family left. 

 

Sansa turns, blinking at him in surprise. “Yes?”

 

Jon jogs so that he is right in front of her, but noticed how she takes a step back. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” He raises his hands assuringly. “Forgive me.” 

 

“You surprised me,” Sansa corrects, her eyes shooting behind him before looking back at him. Her voice is so soft and whimsical, almost like a bells. 

 

“You are Robb’s sister.” Jon states. “He has told me much about his family. He loves you all very deeply, and misses you.” 

 

The scent of lemons and winter roses had never been more prominent than it was with Sansa standing right in front of him. Jon wants to pull her close and bury his face in her neck, taste her, kiss her. Overall, he just wants her.

 

”I am. We miss him just as much,” She smiles and inclines her head at his words. “If not more. Forgive me, I didn’t say, my name is Sansa Sta—Baratheon. Sansa Baratheon, now, as of a few moons ago.” 

 

Jon fights the urge to clench his jaw. He forces a smile and says, “This must be your first time here. I never seen you before . . I liked to think I’d remember someone like you.”

 

Sansa flushes prettily, looking at her hands which she covers with the sleeves of her dress before saying, “I begged my husband to let us travel with my father. He longed to see his mother as well so . . here we are.” She keeps looking behind him. 

 

Jon notices. “Waiting for someone?”

 

She shakes her head, “No, no, it’s just—well my husband does not take lightly to me speaking to other men.” She sighs. “Or anyone for that matter. He does not think of your kind very highly either . . . I do not wish to upset him.”

 

She is terrified of Joffrey, Jon realizes. Again the rage that he is so unfamiliar with rises in him but he forces it back down in the presence of Sansa. He doesn’t want to ruin his time speaking to her by frightening her just as much as her husband seems to. 

 

“Why would he not think of my kind highly?” Jon can’t help but question. “His Mother is one of us. His grandfather is as well.” 

 

“I think it is envy,” Sansa tells him. “He goes on and on about how vile and vain your kind is.”

 

Jon cocks his head to the side, smiling faintly before he nods, “While that is true of most of the noble vampires,” He says, looking into her eyes. “Not all of us are that way.”

 

Sansa’s lips part and a small breath leaves her at the sight of his smile. She begins to say something but is interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind Jon. 

 

“Sansa?” A shrill voice sounds out.

 

Jon sees Sansa shut her eyes. 

 

Joffrey comes behind Jon to stand beside Sansa, who puts on a pretty smile and a joyous look at the sight of her husband. “Sansa? What are you doing?”

 

“Darling,” Sansa says to Joffrey. “This is a friend of my brothers—they are Death Dealers, apart of Viserys’ Guard.”

 

”Ahh, yes, I see,” Joffrey says in a lazy drawl as he eyes Jon’s attire, lingering on his sword. “Our families await us in the dining hall already. We’re late.” 

 

Jon can see Joffrey grip Sansa’s arm just as harshly as he hand earlier. Jon could strike him down right there and then, he is nothing compared to Jon’s strength. He could drain his puny body and relish it. But he rather not go to prison over killing one of the council members sons. Already the lady Cersei seems to take a dislike to him for no apparent reason and he has no doubt that the death of her spineless son will further it into hatred. 

 

“Of course my love,” Sansa says, obviously in pain because of her husbands actions. 

 

Jon watches them go, Sansa looking over her shoulder at him so quickly he almost misses it. Her lovely scent fades the farther she gets as does her even lovelier face. He rubs his face when they are gone from view. Leave it to him to be enamored by a human, a married one at that, the sister of his best friend. But he wonders if Robb is aware of how his sister’s husband treats her. No doubt the same rage would be put in the young Death Dealer as it had Jon. He had never felt so conflicted in his century and a half on this world. 

 

There is little Jon has ever asked for in life. If not anything. But standing there, Sansa’s scent still lingering in his mind, her blue eyes and red hair engraved in his memory . . . Jon knows he’d give everything he had, what little he did, just to permanently remove that sadness that he saw in her face and replace it with nothing but bliss. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> typos idk her. I’ll edit eventually.

**Author's Note:**

> vampires/lycans/love + jonsa,,,THATS my SONGGGG


End file.
